


not, technically, against the rules

by zombeesknees



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: A small, snarky exchange between a nebbish book-loving angel and a demon who didn't fall so much as saunter vaguely downwards. | Written many moons ago on LJ.





	not, technically, against the rules

“I know you’re in,” he shouted through the door. “And you know I could just break down the door, if you don’t open it in a hurry.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” came a muffled voice from inside the shop. 

“How much d’you want to bet? Ten quid?”

“You try it and I’m bringing out the bucket of holy water.”

“…That’s downright _evil_ of you to suggest, Aziraphale. I’m ashamed of you.”

“Go ahead and be ashamed, then, it’s not as if I care two figs.” There was the distinct sound of a haughty sniff. Only Aziraphale could make such a noise audible through a heavy, locked door. 

“What’s gotten into you? You haven’t been this out of sorts since the Third Crusade.”

“You’re the one who’s been abusing the Arrangement, Crowley.”

“Oh? Did a little birdie tell you this?”

“I’m not as blind and stupid as I may seem, I’ll have you know. I’ve got a perfectly decent set of eyes, and a heavenly radar that’s yet to fail me. I know you’ve been… fudging things lately.”

“Why don’t you just unlock the door and let me in, so we can talk in private,” Crowley suggested smoothly, in a tone of voice that could have oiled hinges. 

“Weaver of lies.”

“Hey now, no need for those sorts of blandishments.”

“Go away, Crowley. Or I’m getting out the spray bottle.”

“Well, shucks,” Crowley said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Then what am I going to do with this very rare and very old book of psalms I happened to stumble across in Italy last week? And here I was, thinking you’d be interested in the amusing misprints on page forty-eight…”

There was a sharp _snick_ as the lock slid back on the door. The angel and part-time rare books dealer peered out through the narrow crack, pale blue eyes narrowing. “You’re leading me down the path of temptation,” Aziraphale accused with a palpable air of distrust.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve never been one to go against my nature. You know that.”

“Yes, well… Where’s this book?”

Crowley pulled it from his pocket with a flourish, holding it out for inspection. 

“Hmm, the leather binding is in a bad state,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself. “The spine needs to be treated and re-sewn, and the book needs to be properly dried before the mold and mustiness goes any further…”

“Can I come in, Az?” Crowley said pointedly, raising his dark eyebrows over the rims of his sunglasses. 

“Well… Alright, but I can’t chat for long,” Aziraphale said dismissively, stepping back from the doorway. “I’ve got to check in on young Adam this evening.”

“Still keeping up with the boy, eh?”

“As if your side isn’t doing the same,” Aziraphale said.

“Just why are you being like this with me?” Crowley demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know very well what I mean, you feathery prat. You’ve been ignoring my calls—”

“Misplaced my phone last week.”

“—I haven’t seen you at the pond in two weeks—”

“The business has been occupying most of my time.”

Crowley glanced around at the dimly lit, dusty, totally empty shop. “Uh-huh. And now you’re being more sanctimonious than usual, full of accusations. Threatening assault with a deadly bucket. It’s like you don’t trust me any more.”

“I’ve never trusted you,” Aziraphale said pointedly. “You’re the Enemy, after all. We’ll always be fundamentally against one another.”

“Oh, _please_ , Aziraphale. We’ve always seen relatively eye-to-eye, excepting for the days when I had to slither up a tree to see at your level. We were given our lots, and we’ve made the best of them without doing anything too… Definite.”

“Yes, well, let’s just say that I’ve been _reminded_ of my place,” Aziraphale said uncomfortably. 

“This being a place that’s several tiers above mine?”

“Yes, actually.”

“…So does that mean you never want to speak to me again? No more games of chess on a rainy afternoon? No more good-natured wagers on the outcomes of political races? No more conversations by the duck pond?”

“…Yes. I think that would be best, really, for everyone,” Aziraphale said miserably, staring down at his scuffed shoes.

“Ah. Shame, really.” He leaned in closer with a sly smile, slipping off his sunglasses. “I can’t help but think things will get awfully boring down here, without anyone to talk to. Life among mortals is so much easier to bear when you’ve got an old friend to commiserate with.”

He winked and tapped the end of Aziraphale’s nose. “Well, goodbye then, old boy. See you at the Second Coming, I suppose. Take care.”

He’d managed to open the door with a squeak of warped hinges before Aziraphale had grabbed his arm. 

“You know,” he stammered, face going pink. “It would sort of be _unfair_ , really, if I were to visit Adam alone. The Balance is worth maintaining, don’t you agree? And, well, if you just _happened_ to be waiting at the crossroads outside the village when I stopped in to visit around 6ish, it would sort of be my duty to make sure you didn’t use your pernicious ways to corrupt the boy any further, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Crowley said with convincing sincerity. “Your superiors couldn’t fault you for that.”

“Well… Alright then.”

“Alright. It’s a date.”

“…And maybe a small game of chess tomorrow night? It’s supposed to be overcast and wet, and that weather isn’t good for anything but chess.”

“Certainly. I’m sure there aren’t any _rules_ against playing the occasional game of strategy against the Enemy.”

“Exactly. And there’s nothing against making some muffins for the occasion, either, I’m sure.”

“Banana walnut?”

“If you like.”

“Splendid. I suppose I’d better be off, then. Have a few errands to run before 6. A few souls to tarnish — you know how it is. Quotas will be the end of us, I swear.”

“You know your work will ultimately be foiled in the end,” Aziraphale said pleasantly. “The corrupt and evil shall reap no lasting rewards.”

“And the pious and virtuous are so pretty when they fall,” Crowley replied with a dark grin. “I’ll be seeing you, Aziraphale.”

The angel smiled as the door squeaked shut behind the flash bastard.


End file.
